Dawson Filter as He Relates to Orbs of Steel

One day, Ethanol Silverspool set about to wrangle up some dragons for a game show for which she worked. Her uncle, Jeffery Silverspool-Banks, lent Ethanol his front end loader; so the task took only the first half of the afternoon. She stored the dragons in a warehouse she found while riding a tandem bicycle with her coworkers; and spent the evening learning Nordic dragon lullabies in order to prevent death.

The following day, a whole motley o` things happened: the sun appeared to rise, a deer birthed a fawn, a butterfly flittered down to rest upon the the head of said fawn as a single drop of dew formed on a nearby flower, and Ethanol Silverspool opened the dragon warehouse. It was Thursday, the day The Local Game Show recorded its episodes. Barry Dextrous stepped into the light, where the light was better; and spoke words:

“Good evening, Murderville! We’ve got a real crackerjack episode prepared for you tonight. We’re experimenting with a new format; so instead of answering questions, our contestants will be slaying dragons. Oh, look, there are some contestants over there!”

The cameras focused on several humans in contestant attire before centring on a dragon being carted out of the offscreen warehouse. The contestants ran across the empty lot to the beast. Their lack of a plan should be frowned upon, although they did not suffer because of it. A door at the base of the dragon opened. In truth, it was not so much a dragon as a large sparkly wooden box. From the dragon box stepped Wayne Rubblefish and J. Gordon Whitehead. Wayne was clad in a brown leather jacket that neatly complemented his gold plating, and J. in a black suit jacket; if you were wondering. The contestants stepped back as Wayne spoke.

“Hello. I am Wayne Rubblefish, Director of Human Relations for the Illuminatti for the Blind. My associate, J. Gordon Whitehead and I are here today to disappoint you. You might have noticed that rather than slaying a dragon, you are listening to a monologue. Isn’t that a shame. And that isn’t even the worst of it. Oh, what’s this? I’m building suspense before I reveal what new evil I have done? I bet that strikes terror into your hearts. And what’s more: I won’t even be the one to reveal the new evil. Subversion of expectations!”

J. Gordon Whitehead looked past the contestants to face the camera. Brandishing his fist, he spoke:

‘Round the universe,

Wayne has forged an orb of steel;

There is no escape.

Watching the filming, Dawson Filter was among those disappointed. This was the second time Wayne Rubblefish had trapped him. The first was in a burlap sack, the first contact Dawson Filter had with Wayne. Dawson was able to escape that prison; but that was before being punched by J. Gordon Whitehead, which had a history of crippling people’s escaping abilities.

“Due to our disappointment,” said the contestants in unison, “we have decided to join these self-proclaimed evil doers. This life choice may not make complete sense; but in our systematic effort to build a better tomorrow the mistakes have been made call for desperate measures, fleece. Yours, D’Glester Hardunkichud and friends.”

The dragon box split in half, revealing a smaller box inside. This box was not truly a box, however, nor was it a pipe. It was a dragon. Wayne Rubblefish; J. Gordon Whitehead; the contestants; and Krillthorn Seembirth, whose conversion to evil was not notable enough to include in the story, climbed aboard the dragon to fly away.

Dawson Filter watched the dragon cross over the horizon. Ethanol Silverspool joined him. They had never appreciated their freedom until it was gone. They’d never even been out of the universe before the orb existed; but now that the voyage wasn’t an option, they felt claustrophobic. They watched the sun join the dragon over the edge of the visible world, taking solace in the knowledge that the game show episode would be the best Murderville had ever seen.

Nefarious toasters! Callallilies don’t bloom wild on the west side, Micah. Join the evil-doers? You have for me for the co-opted muffin cups but for lowland gorillas tossing grenades at your orbs of steel! Oh, anger!! Poke it with a stick. Evildoers. Pah! Not my friends, confidently. Centrifugal forces will expose you, Fraggle.